


The Games Are Never Over

by AuthorInDistress



Category: Haikyuu!!, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, The non-con is not prevalent to the story, description of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2020-10-14 05:44:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorInDistress/pseuds/AuthorInDistress
Summary: Iwaizumi, Oikawa and Kageyama are Victors and live in an apartment in the Capitol, but life after the Games isn't easy and Oikawa's patience with the world begins to break.Especially when it comes to Kageyama Tobio being hurt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [my peace has always depended (on all the ashes in my wake)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806937) by [aletterinthenameofsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aletterinthenameofsanity/pseuds/aletterinthenameofsanity). 

.

When Madam Beckt first read his name out from the bowl of reapers, he barely flinched. Despite managing to make it to fifteen years of age, he’d known somehow that he’d be among the tributes this year. The same had happened to his sister after all, and his mother had often referred to their luck in Reapings as the ‘Games Curse’; where almost every member of their family, extended or otherwise, had been picked before their 16th birthday.

No one had lived beyond that besides the current adults and he’d watched cousin after cousin walk up to this same platform and never return and so naturally, he knew that it would soon be himself included.

His mother was utterly hysterical however, which threw him. He’d thought that she would have expected this as well, considering their lives, but she grabbed for him as he passed through the crowds to the platform and tried to stop him, screaming his name.

“No! No _Tooru_, no! Not my son, please!” Another woman forced her back, keeping her quiet and out of sight from the peacekeepers, but he could still hear her sobbing when he joined the female tribute on stage. He was just glad that no one else intervened and made a show of her reaction because it wouldn’t be forgiven otherwise.

“Our tributes, ladies and gentlemen!” Beckt announced then, smiling wide, “Alison Congia and Tooru Oikawa!” Her tone indicated her expectance for applause, and they received it, but he was just numb to its meaning.

It wasn’t until he was led to the trains and forced to say a last goodbye to his mother, that he let himself feel something.

“Tooru,” Her hands fluttered all over his face, his shoulders, drinking him in, “Oh God. My baby.” She sucked in a breath, looking so close to fainting that he had to grab her and sit her down.

“Mum calm down.” He held her, “Stop it, please. I don’t want this to be my last memory of you.”

She suddenly darted back and slapped him hard, burning his cheek as he blinked at the wall he was now looking at, so startled he didn’t know how to react.

“Don’t you dare!” She yelled, “Don’t you dare accept this! You fight! Okay? You fight and you _come home.”_ Rubbing the cheek that she’d just hit, she pressed a kiss to it, holding him close once again, “I can’t lose another one of you, please. I can’t. Fight, Tooru, okay? Fight for me.”

The numbness in him spread until it latched onto the tingling in his cheek and formed a lump in his throat, so hard he couldn’t swallow.

“Okay – ” He choked, holding her closer, and despite never having expected to live past his sixteenth birthday, for the first time he felt determined to at least try, “I'll try." She tightened her grip on him, "I promise.”

That promise seemed ridiculous on the journey to the Capitol however. He didn’t know how to fight or use weapons, not like the Careers would be adept at or anyone that lived in a district for hard labour. He felt soft compared, small and useless, like a child in a pit of lions. But then, there _had_ been victors in his district before, so it had happened.

If only some of them were alive now so he could ask their advice but unfortunately, he was on his own. And so was the other tribute.

Alison, a girl he’d not met before today, sat across from him with her legs drawn up and her face blank. She’d clearly been crying but now seemed resigned to her fate. Clearly neither of them thought that there’d be a District 8 Victor this year.

As soon as they left the tunnels however and they could see District 7 through the windows, both their eyes lit up. No one ever left their district obviously, so to see something so different and new was so awe-inspiring, he forgot his predicament for just one lovely moment and drank it in. But then, he spotted a worker lifting a pretty hefty axe and swinging it across a tree trunk, chopping it down so easily it might as well have been a twig, and the numbness was back.

In his mind’s eye, he thought back to a few years ago when he’d seen a tribute wield an axe just like that, cutting a young boy in half, and he spun around in his seat; pressing a hand to his mouth and trying hard not to vomit.

Unfortunately, Alison must have had the same memory or something similar, but she didn’t stop herself in time and spewed her last meal over the floor. The smell was pungent, making him throw up anyway, rushing for the bathroom and hiding away in there.

He slept the rest of the journey then, not willing to see the other districts and spot where everyone else would have had the chance to learn some sort of helpful task for the games, though he knew that it would all eventually depend on the arena.

But his home district’s main work was textiles; clothe-making and repairing, sewing, crafts, materials and buttons. He couldn’t think of a single thing he’d learnt in the factories that would help keep him alive but then he had the time to dig around and see what talents he may have.

So the moment he stepped into the training arena, he did just that. He didn’t plan on making friends, obviously, but he didn’t want enemies either, so he waited his turn for weapon try-outs but didn’t let anyone else before him when they tried.

He learnt that he was a natural with daggers, throwing them with an amateur precision when he practiced and missing only the first few but hitting the target after that. His aim improved with each toss until he lost the sloppiness but if there weren’t any daggers in the arena, he knew he’d be screwed, so he left them after a while and went to find something else to throw.

Despite his misgivings about his district, lugging baskets of material everywhere and jogging up and down factory steps to meet deadlines, had apparently built muscle. More so than the district 5 tributes anyway, who became out-of-breath after only a few moments running (at the command of their mentor) and who were wobbly legged and wheezy when she made them continue nonetheless.

“You stop running out there, you’re dead,” She let them know and the female tribute burst into tears.

Uncomfortable at the display, Oikawa turned back to the weapons and drew a sword from the pile. Aiming at the target, he bent back and spun it forward, watching it hit hilt-first. The second time, it lodged in the side of the target, but the third struck perfectly.

He did the same with spears then, working and working until he was red in the face and panting, only stopping when he felt someone’s eyes on him. Alison was standing behind him, watching him, and she had a spool of rope in her hands.

There was a plea in her eyes when she looked from him to the targets, and he recognised the fear within them. He couldn’t afford to feel guilty however, because even if he hadn’t promised his mother he’d come home, he’d be going into this arena to kill other children and any weakness would affect that goal.

Meeting her gaze, he lifted a final spear and threw it through the target, watching as it flickered and declared a ‘bullseye’. She fled at that, dropping the rope, but the next day he saw her training with firesticks and looking determined.

They didn’t speak after that, not that they had anyway, and ate their meals in the rooms in silence. It was only when they were put together with their stylist that he finally heard her talk.

“I’m allergic to cashmere.”

One of the groomers paused in doing her hair up, glancing at the stylist, but the man himself barely looked up from his notebook.

“That’s unfortunate,” He said, slowly, “For the district.” He then put the book down and sighed, “Ironic too. But no matter, we’ll put the boy in cashmere. The girl will be silk.”

Oikawa stepped forward for his measurements, noting that his outfit was going to be as colourful as Capitol clothing usually was. He supposed that that was the point, considering the fact that his district made them, but he still felt odd knowing that he’d be wearing it himself. Cashmere was the finest material he’d ever touched, and it was soft too, not as rough at the tunics he usually wore; it felt wonderful against his bare skin.

Alison clearly felt the same about her silk, shutting her eyes as it slid over her shoulders, billowing out like an oversized poncho before their stylist pinned it in place.

His outfit for the interview was similar to the parade’s as well, as colourful as Caesar’s was, though they’d left his hair alone. He watched as the female tribute for District 7 tottered off in heels she clearly couldn’t walk in and waited for his name to be called. So far, the favourites were the Careers, as per usual, but he refused to let that bring him down.

Once he was called, he steeled himself, drew a smile from somewhere in him, and walked out before the audience. They cheered and cheered him, which was surprising considering he wasn’t a Career, and he didn’t understand why until Caesar simmered them down and gestured he sit.

“So. Tooru,” He smiled, leaning forward, “How’s our newest eligible _bachelor_ tribute?” There were more screams now, girls calling out his name, and he then realised what was happening.

They’d seen his face on the screens and they’d found him good-looking.

His mother had always told him he had looks but now, to be lauded like this, he supposed she hadn’t been as biased as he’d thought.

“I’m good.” He smiled, turning it toward the cameras for a full effect.

_“Good. _Good.” Caesar beamed at him, “I have to say, after seeing you in your outfit yesterday _and_ today, I’m pretty good too.”

There was laughter at that and he joined in as best he could, “Oh, well, actually I was pretty nervous to be wearing something so nice so I’m glad it went down okay.”

“More than okay according to the audience.”

“Then I guess my mum was right about me being handsome,” He turned his grin cheeky, “I always thought she was just being nice.”

Caesar guffawed, _“Mr_ Oikawa, you’re a cheeky one aren’t you! Handsome and a sense-of-humour, oh, you’d do well in the Capitol.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to do my best to win and visit here, Caesar.” Oikawa answered, which was apparently the right thing to say, because the audience went crazy for it.

Once his interview was over, he felt emotionally exhausted but a little more optimistic. If the audience liked him that much, then there was hope for sponsors, and they’d likely want him on camera longer than most too, which would keep him alive if he was right. The bloodbath was his biggest worry but maybe his looks had saved him from that.

Maybe.

“It’s disgusting, isn’t it.” Someone suddenly spoke and he turned, startled, only to see the Mentor for District 10 leaning against the wall. He had spiked hair, short-cut, which suited the scowl he never seemed to be without. “You’re what, fourteen?”

“Fifteen.” Oikawa automatically corrected him.

“Even worse.” The mentor pushed himself away from the wall, looking up at the screen above them where Alison was now having her interview. “These perverts are going to eat you alive.” With that, he left, and Oikawa frowned as he tried to take that in.

That night, he looked through the channels for different games, finding the year where District 10 had won. And then there he was again, the scowling Mentor standing on stage. He wasn’t as angry back then, looking every bit as scared as any other kid would, and he read that his name was Hajime Iwaizumi; Japanese like him.

The arena he’d fought in had been a rainforest, complete with random flooding and jaguar-mutts. Iwaizumi had won by using his livestock knowledge against the other tributes. He’d killed a jaguar and had shed its skin, wearing it himself and using it to camouflage, hiding in the trees and shooting tributes as they passed by.

He’d then caused a stampede of rabid monkeys, leading them to the Careers’ camp and finishing any of them off when they were weakened and alone.

He was strong too though, killing the last tribute with his bare hands, and standing over him in jaguar-skin as the canon fired above. The fact that not all his kills had been trickery was probably the only reason the gamekeepers had let him get that far, and he’d clearly known that, because he’d then only mentioned those kills in his interviews, straying from anything that the Capitol might have disapproved of.

His outfit before had been the usual ‘cow’ costume but after his win, the stylist had put him in jaguar-print and he wore something similar for his tour too.

Going by the year, this Iwaizumi had turned sixteen now, which made him one of the youngest winners in recent years as he’d been thirteen when reaped. There also hadn’t been a win for District 10 since, which may be why he was so angry all the time.

Training intensified after the interviews and he showcased his aim to the gamekeepers, gaining a 9 on the scoreboard. Alison got a 3 and spent the day in bed, clearly resigned to dying now and depressed over it. She was pale and shaky when they finally made their way down to the tunnels, ready to be taken up to the arena.

He was shaky himself once he stepped into the tube and stared up, waiting and waiting for this day to now begin. This could be it for him and he didn’t feel ready, not at all, but then the tube was moving and he didn’t have time for doubts. As soon as he hit air and the tube retreated back down, he squinted in the sunlight and felt his breath catch in his throat.

The landscape was snow, reflecting the light in their eyes, and it was absolutely freezing. He refused to hug himself however and stared around, catching sight of an icy-mound where he knew the weapons would be. It was too far from where he was stood however, closer to the Career tributes than him, and he knew that it wasn’t worth the risk. There were hills nearby and bare-leaved trees though, which was where he should run.

Above them, the countdown rang aloud, ticking down the seconds before most of them would die. Once it hit zero, he left his podium and ran for the trees. As he went however, he heard a canon already and turned despite telling himself not to. The Careers were scrambling, fending off a polar bear mutt that they’d disturbed in the mound. It was huge and had swiped a claw through the stomach of the district 2 female, killing her instantly.

There weren’t weapons in the mound then, it had been a trick, and he had about five seconds to figure out where they really were before someone else did and used them.

The bear was a distraction he could use though, so he scanned the horizon, spotting a small cave in one of the hills he’d seen at the start. Racing toward it, he bent and grabbed the nearest rucksack he could see, taking a spear as well and running for the trees, going as fast as he could until he was utterly hidden in the densest parts. The snow vanished soon and was replaced by sodden mud and slippery ice, but he used the spear to help him walk and found a safe place to open the rucksack and see what he’d got.

Inside was a flare, a knife, some rope and a trowel. The trowel was the most useful right now, as he found the softest area of mud and started digging. Once there was room enough for him to fit, he crawled inside, patting the walls flat so they wouldn’t collapse and covering the entrance. No sooner had he hidden, he heard footsteps running past and a whoop as something struck.

He heard a canon ring out and peered through the tiniest gap he had, seeing the District 1 male holding another of the spears in his hand. He pulled free one he’d clearly just thrown, lifting it out of a young girl and staring right over the mound that Oikawa was in.

He held his breath, staying absolutely still, but wasn’t seen and the Careers moved on, chasing down any other stragglers. He didn’t leave his spot until late afternoon, only sneaking out when his legs grew stiff and he knew he’d need to find food.

Using the knife, he found some birds that were tucked away in a tree trunk, eating them raw with a grimace and making sure he didn’t make any unflattering faces just in case there were cameras nearby. His looks were his saving grace, he had to keep them up.

Using fallen leaves to wrap the leftover birds, he went back into his mound and started digging a little more, making it deeper and easier to conceal. It was going to be a cold night, he knew that, but he’d have to put up with it. Once night did come about it, he wrapped his arms around himself and blew down his collar to warm himself up, watching the day’s deaths showcased in the sky and noting them down in his head.

In order, they showed the female from District 2, the male from 3, both tributes from 5, 6, and 12, and the male from 11. That left fifteen other tributes in the arena. No sooner had he thought that however, another canon sounded and he flinched, burrowing down into his mound.

The Careers raced past a moment later, torches in hand as they had absolutely no qualms about being seen by others, and a final light shone in the sky once they were gone.

Alison from district 8.

He sighed, leaning back. So she’d survived the bloodbath but not the first night. Despite himself, he was sad for her, and slept fitfully, waking at the slightest sound and terrified of being discovered and dragged out to be killed. He made it until morning though, and survived the following day and night after that too, learning more about the arena.

Anything that wasn’t forest was snow and was crawling with bears, but the forest itself wasn’t any better. There were gas cannisters hidden in the trunks, shooting out at random times, and he was hit by one once and was blinded for over an hour. He’d found his way back to his mound and had ridden it out, stumbling upon an equally blinded tribute sometime later. She’d staggered about past him and at night, he’d seen her in the sky, the District 11 female.

Either she’d been found blind and killed or had fallen somewhere and died from exposure, he wasn’t sure, but the weather _was_ becoming a danger. Each night was getting colder than the last and the mud didn’t keep him dry and kept his fingers numb, so making the risky decision, he left his mound the fourth day in and trekked back toward the snow.

He knew no one else would try this for fear of the bears, and he was stupid for doing it himself, but the game that he’d seen with Iwaizumi Hajime had inspired him a little and he was too cold to care.

Wrapping his spear with rope, he’d dug a spot near the trees where he could see the landscape, had cut his hands with the knife and bled a trail for bait, and had then waited for a bear to show itself. Once one had, he waited until it sniffed at the blood and came close enough for him to aim and drive his spear through an eye.

It was perfectly hit, as was becoming the norm for him, and the bear dropped to its side; dead. He’d wasted no time in skinning it and taking the fur to wrap himself up in, shivering but warming immediately. Just taking its fur seemed a waste however and he knew he should use this opportunity to actually get some kills in to avoid losing the sponsors he had, but he wasn’t sure how.

The hiss of a gas cannister gave him the idea though, and he used some of the fur to cover one that he found before it could spray him, yanking it out from its spot. He then headed to the weapons cave from the first day, knowing that it would have been made into a campsite by now and smiling to himself when he saw that it was. As quickly as he was able, he dragged the bear’s body toward it and positioned it like it was asleep, using the cave’s darkness to hide the fact that it was skinless, and then finding a tree to climb and hide in see if it worked.

Soon after, the Careers came by like he knew they would, but they froze when they saw the bear.

“Shit, why the hell is it _here?”_ One spat, pacing by the mouth, and with them all in the one area now, Oikawa found a stick and aimed. He hit the cannister he’d placed by them and it reacted, spraying the mouth of the cave and hitting them all with blindness.

Completely helpless now, he jumped down and slit each of their throats with a knife but before he could get to the burly District 4 tribute, he must have heard him and had charged in his general direction.

Oikawa braced himself for the impact but something snapped in his knee as he fell, stabbing upward and killing the boy before he could hurt him further but panting from the pain once he was done. He sat up, holding his leg and biting his lip, heaving himself up with the help of his spear and leaving the Careers behind.

Back at his mound, he received a sponsor’s parachute which had painkillers inside and peeled his trousers up to take a look at the wound. His knee was bruised and purple, clearly broken and hurting like hell, so he cut the bottom of his pants off and wrapped it up tight with a stick for a splint, using the fur to keep himself warm. He took the pills before resting for the night, seeing names in the sky and realising that now the only tributes left were the female from 3, the two from 9 and the male from 10.

He had to limp now however and couldn’t run with his knee the way it was, but the male from 10 found the others before he did and he eventually ended up face-to-face with him.

He was every bit as muscular as his mentor was and for a moment, he felt guilty that he was going to try to kill him when Iwaizumi would want him alive. But then he remembered his mother and felt stupid for that guilt, bracing himself and knowing he’d have no chance in a fight right now unless he injured his opponent as badly as he was first.

His analysis of the situation proved pointless though because before either of them could move, a bear had come out of nowhere and had mauled number 10. The fur over his shoulders had clearly caused one to smell him out but had saved him as well, stopping him from smelling like a human. 10 scrambled to try and get away but the bear tore into his neck and chomped down whilst Oikawa stumbled back, lifting his spear and killing the bear just as a canon went off.

And then just like that, he won.

He woke in a carrier with his leg fully repaired and his frozen fingers and so forth warm and clean. Winning didn’t feel real until after the victor interview and feast however, when he was put on a train and realised that this was it. He wouldn’t be going up a tube again, he was done. He’d _done_ it.

His mother greeted him from the train, in tears and so so happy to see him, ignoring the fact that he was now a murderer of course because her baby was home and that was all that mattered. He was the first District 8 victor in years and had the village to himself, his mother moving in and redecorating it all to suit them. She put up a picture of his sister and father, putting flowers everywhere, but he learnt soon that the games weren’t over yet.

After his victor-tour, Oikawa left the room that he’d been given in the Capitol and went out to get some air, staring down at the city and all its people who watched children killing each other time-and-time again and didn’t bat an eye. His mother had been wary of him leaving again so soon but knew she had no choice and had assumed that once this was over, he’d be home with her forever.

She was wrong.

“So you survived.” He recognised the voice now, having heard it in person and on television, but he hadn’t expected to see Iwaizumi wearing a suit this time, with a non-jaguar-print. “Congrats.”

“Yeah.” He scoffed, leaning back, “Lucky me, huh.”

Smiling slightly, Iwaizumi stood beside him, looking out over the city too, “It gets easier.” He said, “The nightmares and shit.”

Looking at him, Oikawa nodded slowly, blowing out his cheeks, “Does it? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your _frown_ lines.”

Scowling now, Iwaizumi turned to him, “So you still have your sense of humour, then. Or are you just practicing for Caesar?”

“Both.” Oikawa shrugged, “My mum always says not even a plague could get rid of my humour.”

“Well. This place just might.”

They continued to speak all night, and then the next few days as well, becoming fast-friends together but it wasn’t until his last day in the Capitol that he realised Iwaizumi might be right.

He was summoned to see President Mal out-of-the-blue and once sat down, was told how his life would be now. His looks had saved him in the game, had given him sponsors, but now the Capitol wanted him to themselves. And if he refused, his mother would pay the price.

So there would be no returning home for him after all. He could visit of course, could see his mother now-and-again, but he was to live in the Capitol and stay at the President’s disposal for the rest of the time.

Angry, bitter, and so disgusted, he went to find Iwaizumi afterward and slammed him into the wall.

“Did you know this would happen?” He spat, “That I’d have to do this?”

Iwaizumi calmed him down and explained that yes, he knew those the Capitol liked ended up this way, but he hadn’t said so before because Oikawa might have died anyway. And now, he’d just not known _how_ to tell him.

“But if I don’t. My _mum_ – ” He shut his eyes, turning away, and let Iwaizumi hug him. "Fuck."

His choice was clear however. Very clear. And he knew what he had to do. As soon as he could, he used his winnings and got an apartment nearby.

He chose one next door to where Iwaizumi stayed on purpose, glad to know someone here already, and learnt that despite not being deemed ‘wanted’ by the Capitol, Iwaizumi had always lived here nonetheless. This was apparently because he didn’t want to get to personally know any tributes from his District before he had to watch them die but was mainly because he didn’t have any living family anyway.

Oikawa had been wrong when he’d assumed the Capitol hadn’t punished him for his trickery in his Game. He’d come home to find his mother, sisters and girlfriend dead.

Wanting badly to prevent that happening to him, he went along with the Capitol’s desire, meeting for ‘appointments’ and sleeping with men and women years beyond his age. He lost his virginity to his first appointment, to a woman that had ‘seen his face on camera and just _had_ to have a taste’ and gradually got used to it. Or as used to it as he could get.

But it wasn’t until the next year that he began to feel the hardship that there was in being alive and started to think that maybe he should have just let himself get killed in the Games. His mother was way past the reaping age and would have never been in danger had he died, but now with him alive, her life was forfeit for any mistakes he made and he didn’t even get to enjoy his time with her.

There was also the fact that it would be his first year mentoring tributes for the Games and he’d barely recovered from his own time in the arena yet, but Iwaizumi gave him plenty of advice.

“The key’s to accept that they might die.” He told him, “Prepare them to survive but prepare yourself for when they don’t.”

Easier said than done obviously but that was most things nowadays. It was with Iwaizumi too that he watched the tributes being chosen, and he wasn’t surprised to see District 1 and 2 having volunteers instead of those reaped. This year, the male from 2 was eighteen and huge, towering over his female counterpart like a bull.

He didn’t envy those that would have to fight him.

The other districts went by without anyone in particular standing out, until they reached number 6. The male tribute called forward looked like an infant with how young he was and his mother fainted on the side-lines, falling into a man’s arms as he watched what was clearly their son leave. The Escort butchered the pronunciation but as cultures were all merged into one in Panem, it was expected, and most Japanese names had died out.

Oikawa’s mother had held onto her heritage though, as had Iwaizumi’s, and now this Kageyama Tobio was a part of their little group.

The boy, Kageyama, walked forward in a daze, his eyes shiny and wide, and Oikawa leant back over his sofa when District 7 was then shown next.

“God, was he even reaping _age?”_

“He wouldn’t be in the bowl, if he wasn’t.” Iwaizumi said, but he sounded doubtful himself.

District 8s tributes were average again but he memorised their names, knowing that he was now their last chance for survival and if he failed, they died. He left to meet them on their train, feeling strange stepping onto it as he spent so much of his time in the Capitol now, his home district didn’t feel home anymore.

Darla and Seeble didn’t give him much to work with however; they were both painfully shy and were too in shock to discuss what their skills might be. He tried anyway, giving them encouragement and reminding them that their district had won just last year, with him.

Darla reminded him that he’d been the latest after almost twenty years though, and that she wasn’t expecting there to be another anytime soon. Seeble just ran to the bathroom to vomit.

By the time the interviews rolled around, Oikawa had exhausted every avenue. Darla was a great climber so he’d her practice that and camouflage and Seeble had great hearing so he’d blindfolded him for simulated tests. Neither were attack-strategies and were more hiding and defence, but it would keep them alive for a little while hopefully.

Both were put in sleek material like he had been for his but he didn’t hold out any hope for them gaining sponsors. For one, he was sure Seeble had become mute since arriving too.

He watched the interviews on the television in his apartment, sat with Iwaizumi, and grimaced with disgust when District 2s male boasted his ‘work-out’ routine and flashed the audience his muscles. His interview was the only interesting one however, with the others faring quite dull or generic, but then it was District 6’s turn and that young boy stepped onto the stage.

They learnt that he really _was_ reaping age, but just about, having turned twelve only a month beforehand.

“Bad luck,” Iwaizumi muttered, shaking his head.

His mentor had clearly wanted to use the fact that he was so young to get him sponsors though, as he’d had him dressed in shorts and a tucked-in-shirt, complete with a tiny hat on his head. He had to hop to get onto the sofa and the audience cooed, making Oikawa feel sick.

“Yeah it’s adorable. Now let’s send him to fucking kill some other _fucking kids.”_

Iwaizumi nudged him. “Shut up and listen.”

Caesar’s interview seemed brief compared to the others however, barely mentioning the score of 4 that Kageyama had gotten, but then afterwards he did something that he didn’t normally do for any other tribute. At least, as far as Oikawa knew for the Games he’d been alive for.

“Now, do you want to say anything to your mum and dad back home?”

Blinking, Kageyama had turned to the nearest camera and Oikawa squirmed at the eye-contact, uncomfortable.

“Mama.” He spoke, earnest in a way that bled naivety, “Papa. I’ll try.”

Oikawa broke his glass, slicing his hand open, and Iwaizumi cursed. “Shit, Oikawa.” He dragged him to the sink and washed the blood away, ignoring how hard Oikawa was shaking.

He missed his own tributes’ interviews, feeling guilty for it, but he couldn’t get those blue eyes out of his head. He planned on watching only until his tributes died too, but when they both perished in the bloodbath, he stayed and looked out for Kageyama on screen even then.

The arena was boiling hot this time which was where most of the danger was, with metal over most surfaces, causing the tributes to burn themselves with every misstep. Kageyama seemed fine with touching the metal however, and it was then that Oikawa remembered District 6 was transport. He was too young to work but evidently was used to handling hot metal, as he knew where to touch, how long to, and what his limits with it were.

The first day, he pried free a panel that was weaker than the rest and used a rock to jam it into shape, knocking it until it resembled the head of a spear. He then ripped his sleeves and unravelled the material to tie it together with a metal pole, wrapping the area he held as well to prevent constantly burning himself, and with that he had a weapon.

He’d missed the actual weapons before to avoid the bloodbath but was clearly not helpless.

Using his new spear, he then propped open another metal panel and had found an inner cavern, using it for shade and to sort through anything he’d found. He came across the Careers in his third day however and ran just as they spotted him, skidding over metal like a cat on ice. Oikawa watched the chase intently, heart in his throat, only to gape as Kageyama suddenly disappeared from view.

The Careers stopped as well, looking about for him, until a splash in the water made one of them lunge toward it. The water was full of boiling metal however, out in the sun, and he didn’t last longer than three minutes within it; screaming for help that wouldn’t come.

The Careers left him behind and went back the way they came, but once they were gone, Kageyama peered out from another hiding space he must have made and was given a cotton sheet from sponsors a moment later. He used it to cover a large panel and rode out on the hot water, careful not to touch it, until he reached the dead Career.

He stole his knife and bag, wincing when his hands were burnt but able to drag it back to his hideout. And now he had another weapon and some food as well.

“I'll admit, I thought he’d die in the first five minutes.” Iwaizumi said to him after that, looking impressed despite himself. He still had one tribute from his district alive but when the camera followed them, she was covered with blisters and was flushed from the heat; not likely to last long.

Water was a huge problem for this arena as most of it was boiling, and the heat was too intense to last without it. Kageyama had had a short reprieve from with his shade but he was struggling now too, needing to find liquid soon. The Careers had taken the water bottles from this arena’s Cornucopia but hadn’t set up camp there as they usually would. Oikawa wondered if this was because of him and his trick from his game but their campsite wasn’t too far, so it may have just been because it was too hot there.

They’d found an area with shade and less metal and it was near the river, where they’d discovered the water cooled when night came, refilling their bottles with it then each time. Clearly thirsty, Kageyama floated past and landed his miniature raft, hopping off and ducking into their camp to find some water.

He took two of their bottles but hadn’t looked out for anyone who’d stayed on watch and bumped right into the tribute from 2 on his way out.

The huge guy stared down at him, in shock that he’d even tried to steal from them, and with a score of 4 Oikawa didn’t hold out any hope but he’d forgotten about the spear.

Kageyama darted back, grabbed his weapon and held it fast as District 2’s male charged. He used his momentum against him and squeezed his eyes shut when it worked, his spear going right through the guy’s chest. A canon went off instantly and then there was yelling in the distance, of the other Careers running back.

Yanking his spear free, Kageyama crawled out from under the body of 2 and ran for his raft. He wouldn’t have time to float away however and didn’t have anywhere to hide, so he dragged 2’s jacket off, wrapped himself in it completely and dived into the water.

The Careers ran into the clearing just as he had and saw their companion lying there dead. District 4’s male kicked his body, scoffing, but then they were all racing off to find out who could have killed him as they clearly couldn’t have gotten far.

Once alone, Kageyama rose to the surface and shed the smoking jacket, having been protected by its insulation, but he was still blistered and red.

He drank one of the water bottles then in one go and clambered back onto his raft, heading for his hideout.

Like the Careers, he refilled his new bottles at night, and soon after there were only six more tributes left. The biggest threat, 2’s male, was dead however and that raised his chances exponentially. Rejuvenated by his thirst being quenched, he went out to hunt for food, catching and eating a lizard that he roasted in the sunlight.

A camera hovered near him as he ate and he waved. _Waved. _

“This kid.” Oikawa snorted, shaking his head.

Not long after, the girl from 9 slipped and fell into water, gasping as she was boiled alive but unable to get a grip on anything that wasn’t hot metal to get out. Her canon went off just as her body sank backward and bubbled, which left just the Careers now; both from 1, the girl from 2 and the boy from 4.

And obviously, Kageyama from 6.

Knowing he was the only one not from their group, the Careers went looking thoroughly for him and his hideout was soon found. He was dragged out from it but managed to kick 4 in the chest, sending him flying back into the river.

His legs free, he went for his spear, but 2 stabbed a knife right through his hand, sticking him in place. He cried out, staring up at her, and the boy from 1 lifted a rock to bash his head in.

“No – ”

But then 4 tried to get out of the river, fumbling and screaming, and he grabbed the nearest thing he could reach, the boy from 1’s ankle.

Losing his balance, 1’s male fell into the river too, landing on 4 and killing him simultaneously. Their deaths were a distraction that Kageyama used, pulling free the knife in his hand and climbing to his feet, jumping over the panels to get away. He tested where he should go, knew what was weak and what wasn’t, but 2 was clumsy in contrast and stumbled, stamping over one that collapsed under her.

She was sliced open by the sharpened sides of the panel and gagged on her blood, reaching up. She’d be dead in a moment but Kageyama stopped and came back.

“Here.” He took her hand and tried to pull, helping her up.

“The hell is he doing?” Iwaizumi snapped, glaring at the screen, “Get out of there, dumbass.”

Oikawa watched in silence however, mystified, the moment broken when the girl from 1 shot an arrow and killed 2 regardless. Kageyama fell back when she slumped and got an arrow to the arm himself, making him drop and clutch at his wound.

“You little brat,” 1 spat at him, “Stay still.” She drew another arrow, “I’ll sing you a lullaby before you die, how about that? Deal?”

Kageyama watched as she approached, terrified, but when she stepped onto a creaking panel, he jumped back to his feet, “I’m twelve,” He snapped at her, “Not _five_.” With that, he gave her a shove and she was forced to step back, the panel collapsing under her as well.

She hit her chin over the edges, cutting her throat open, and when the canon went off Kageyama was announced the victor.

He fainted from pain and relief almost immediately but then for his victor’s interview, he was completely healed with the reset. He was in young boy clothes again but this time, it was all in grey, the colour of the metal he’d used to win.

His video-footage was also used to show him as endearing and cute but then, shocking them all, Kageyama shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s funny,” He spoke over Caesar’s current ‘titbit’ about his waving to cameras, “I had to kill people. Just to make you all happy.”

The audience went silent for a moment but then Caesar laughed again, breaking it, “You’re right. Goodness you’re so young, I forget how blunt young people can be!”

And then the audience was laughing again too but that moment was still there. Knowing what it meant, Oikawa wasn’t surprised to learn that Kageyama went home the next month to his parents dead, a lesson he’d had to learn at such a young age.

Speak the truth and those you love paid the price.

Too young to live alone in the Victor’s village, Kageyama was told to come to the Capitol at the President’s request and was warier now, glancing at the Peacekeepers who escorted him. He still looked ridiculously young when he passed by which was what made Oikawa stagger after them and say that he was here to see the President first.

He was allowed in before then but was given a long look, obviously not expected.

“Tooru Oikawa.” President Mal greeted him, his voice as grating as chalk on a board, “What can I do for you?”

“I’ll add clients to my roster. I’ll do more for you.” Oikawa snapped, getting right to the point, “I’ll even stay in the Capitol full-time, not going home if it makes it easier.”

“And what’s brought this on?” Mal asked but knowing who was outside waiting to see him, he’d visibly guessed. But he wanted Oikawa to say it.

“You don’t touch the kid. Kageyama.” He said, “He doesn’t do what I do. I know you’ve got people waiting but he’s a _child_, he – ”

“I’ll remind you that you don’t tell me what to do, Mr Oikawa.” Mal interrupted and Oikawa clicked his jaw shut, suddenly so shocked he’d even tried to do this, talking to the man who could kill everyone he loved with a snap of his fingers like he had the authority to.

“I – sorry, I didn’t – ”

“Well don’t worry, I’ve accepted your conditions anyway.” Mal continued over him, waving a hand, “I can wait until the boy turns 16.”

Bitter that he hadn’t saved him entirely and that he’d likely just added another person to the list of those he could get killed, Oikawa straightened and nodded, taking what he could have.

“On one condition of my own.” He stiffened, not sure what to expect, but then, “The boy stays with you. Makes it easier to keep an eye on things.”

Oikawa left his office leaden-legged and passed a note to the head peacekeeper that explained how Kageyama would be going with him.

Confused and wide-eyed, the boy followed when told to, and stepped into place beside Oikawa on their way back to the apartment. Iwaizumi was there however and looked startled to see him.

“Wh – Shittykawa, don’t tell me you _stole_ the kid?”

Kageyama straightened, staring between them both, before saying softly, “You speak … Japanese?”

Giving Oikawa a long look, Iwaizumi nodded, looking down at him, “We both do. It’s – easier. And helps us remember our families.”

Flushing, Kageyama gazed up at him like he were an alien, “I see. Then,” Bowing to his hip, he switched from English to Japanese himself, “Pleased to meet you.”

Iwaizumi put a hand on his head, looking fond, “Pleased to meet you.” To Oikawa, he then added bluntly, “But what’s he _doing_ here?”

“He’ll be living here.” Oikawa said, willing to give the honest explanation to Iwaizumi in private but turning to Kageyama to lie, “You’re too young to live alone and as Iwa-chan and I are Japanese, we were volunteered to take you in.” He explained, ignoring the stare he got from his friend.

“Iwa-chan?” Kageyama raised an eyebrow and Iwaizumi grimaced.

“Iwaizumi.” He corrected, “Oikawa just – he’s just like that.”

“But you’ll be used to how I am, Tobio-chan,” He smiled, turning to stand behind him, putting his hands on his shoulders and meeting Iwaizumi’s gaze, “Because you’re staying here now. Where you’re needed.”

The subtle code explained enough for now and just like that, they went from two to three in their group, bringing Kageyama in under their wing.

He knew it wasn’t simple, that he’d made a bargain and he’d have to keep to it, but at least he’d kept the kid safe. Until he was 16 anyway.

He had some years still, to be a child and heal, but when he turned sixteen, he knew he'd have to tell him the truth and to show him that unfortunately, Victor or not, the Games were never over.

Not for them.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama and Oikawa will not get together at this age, this is just an introduction to the setting :)


	2. Chapter 2

.

Oikawa found him huddled in the closet.

It was the common place to look for him these days, especially after any nightmares or after a day like today, and he wordlessly held the door open to peer down at him. Tobio had his arms wrapped around his knees with his face pressed into them, barely acknowledging him until Oikawa nudged him in the thigh with his foot.

“Move over.” He ordered, pushing his way into the closet as well. It was a tight fit, pressed together in the dark, and he was glad neither of them were particularly claustrophobic. Tobio curled into himself a little more to make room, finally looking up and giving him a dark look.

“Can’t you leave me alone, Oikawa-san?” He asked, the Japanese rolling off the tongue as it always did whenever they were home.

“Nope.” Oikawa let him know, his voice void of any levity despite the answer, “So either you come out or I crush you in here.” Tobio's glare darkened, “I’m not kidding.”

“Oikawa-san – ”

“Alright time's up.” He began stretching his legs out, pushing himself from the back of the closet wall until Tobio had no choice but to clamber out to breathe. He slammed the door open, getting to his feet and grabbing a sock from the floor, throwing it in Oikawa’s face, “Hey!”

“I want to be left alone!”

“Well I don’t care!” Oikawa yelled back, standing himself and grabbing Tobio by the shoulders, “You think I don’t know what goes on in your head when you’re alone, Tobio? I’m not letting you out of my sight, so just come to the kitchen and _eat_ something.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might hit him, but then Tobio's face crumpled and he stepped back, “I _can’t._” He whispered, “How can I eat when – ?”

“Tobio.” Oikawa cut him off, stern, “Kids are going to die. Every year, they’ll die like this and there’s nothing you can do. Okay?” He waited until his gaze was met to continue, “But it is not your fault. Not ever. Even if you think you should have given a little more advice, gotten more sponsors, or anything else. Okay?”

Like he’d swallowed a bug, Tobio pressed his lips together, “But they’re still dead.” He spat.

Oikawa softened, “Yeah. They’re still dead,” Putting a hand over the back of Tobio's neck, he brought their heads together, feeling Tobio's lashes over his cheek as he closed his eyes at the touch, “And be sad. Keep your empathy, Tobio-chan. Just don’t blame yourself for this shitty world’s faults.”

They stayed that way for a long while, breathing in together, only to flinch back when the door suddenly swung open.

Iwaizumi looked at them both, clearly having just come from the game-room considering the smart attire he was in, “Sorry. I thought – I didn’t know where you two were.”

“We’re just coming.” Oikawa told him, giving Tobio a light push to get him in front, to be sure that he came out to eat as well.

“He okay?” Iwaizumi murmured to him as he passed. He shook his head but didn’t elaborate, walking out toward the kitchen and getting three plates down from the cupboards to lay on the table. Tobio collected the glasses and Iwaizumi took the pot from the stove, setting it down on a small wooden board.

The three of them had learned to cook together, using instructions and advice from Oikawa’s mother whenever they could contact her, and now took it in turns to make a meal for the day. Today had been Oikawa’s turn and he’d made a simple stew, knowing that neither of them would want anything more this far into the games.

Iwaizumi spooned it into each of their plates and Oikawa cut some of the bread to dip into it as well. The meal was eaten in silence, each of them too sombre or tired to make conversation, and the television remained pointedly off.

Judging from the anger radiating around Iwaizumi, they didn’t need to watch it to know what had happened last anyway. Both his kids were dead. That left none from their districts and only the Careers still kicking.

Oikawa dunked a piece of bread into his stew, soaking it up and watching as it eventually grew soggy enough to fall into chunks. He felt nauseous looking at it and jumped when Tobio suddenly slammed a hand down over the table.

“I hate this!” He yelled. Iwaizumi glanced up sharply but he didn’t stop. “All of it! I don’t _want_ to play into their game!”

“Kageyama.” Iwaizumi snapped, “Shut up. Now.”

The warning in his tone was enough to deter him but he still glared, his face burning red, “My tributes were so tiny.” He said, “They weren’t even _born_ for the stupid war and now they’re dead! How is that fair?”

“It’s not.” Oikawa said, “But there’s nothing you can do, so _stop_. Before someone hears you and decides you need another lesson.”

“What other lesson? I haven’t got any family left.” Tobio reminded him, curtly.

“Tobio – ”

“They already _killed_ them, remember. But maybe they'll just hurt _me_ next and I wish they'd try – !”

“Enough!” Iwaizumi banged the table with a fist, silencing Tobio instantly, “Stop talking. If you’re finished eating, then fuck off, but do it _quietly_.”

Tobio stared at him, visibly realising what Oikawa had already guessed, that Iwaizumi’s last tribute had just died. He blinked twice, looking both angry and ashamed, and pushed his plate away to scrape his chair back and stand.

He left the room, heading for the balcony and shutting the glass doors to it behind him.

Oikawa glanced back down at his stew, the floating chunks of bread having now sunk and gotten far too mushy to eat. He stirred it uselessly, his appetite gone.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Iwaizumi said, not for the first time, “Or us killed in his stead.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, resigned, but unable to really argue the point either.

“And what? You don’t care?”

“Tobio’s not stupid enough to say this shit out in public. He knows better than that.”

“I don’t know. He’s getting angrier day-by-day.”

“Well aren’t you?” Oikawa rounded on him now, “Aren’t you getting angry? Aren’t I?” He scoffed, “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to think Clarabelle had the right idea.” With that, he stood up as well and left the table, heading for his room to sit on the stool by the window.

It was raining outside, heavy and loud enough to be heard from where he was. He propped his knees up to watch the droplets slide down the glass, running down over his reflection like the tears he wanted to cry but couldn’t.

The view from his window span out over the other flats and over their own balcony, which they rarely used as it was hardly private, but Tobio was out there right now. He was sat on a chair right in the middle of the current downpour, looking like a soaked puppy and clearly too stubborn to come back inside despite his visible shivers.

Sighing, Oikawa stood and opened his window to join him, grabbing their coats as he did.

“Here.” He dumped one of them over Tobio’s head once he reached him, already covered with his own, “There’s no point in getting sick.”

“I won’t get sick.” Tobio insisted, “It used to rain all the time in my district. And we had to work through it anyway.”

“You worked with electricity,” Oikawa frowned.

“Yes.”

“Rain and electricity don’t generally mix.” At that, Tobio looked up, giving him a look that was beyond his years and Oikawa realised how stupid he sounded. Work was work, regardless of who died to complete it. That was the Capitol’s outlook after all.

Tobio glanced away again with his point made, staring out through the rain at the other buildings and the game-room’s protruding spire that could be seen from all points of the city.

“Come on,” Oikawa nudged him, “I’ve got to head out today, I can’t get wet even if you can.”

“Go inside then.” Tobio snapped, only to then pause, “You’re going out?”

“Yes. I have one of my meetings.” He grabbed Tobio by the arm, now that he was distracted, and hauled him to his feet, shoving him toward the doors, “And I’m not leaving you out here so you can melt away.”

Tobio glared, “I’m not a witch.”

Oikawa smiled, shrugging his coat off and tossing it aside, loving that this insult still worked its magic in reminding Tobio that life wasn't _all_ bad. Though it had taken him a while to get to that point himself, especially with how things had been going for him over the last few years, but he still had some memories he could cherish too. 

Even from the start. 

When Tobio had first arrived, he’d been so focused on protecting him from Mal’s grasp that he hadn’t really thought about what to do afterward.

Iwaizumi had been as lost as him and despite the age difference between them being not exactly significant, it had felt momentous when looking down at a twelve-year-old that was suddenly their responsibility. Particularly one that had been grieving the loss of his parents and suffering from extreme PTSD.

He’d had nightmares almost every night, and they hadn’t stopped even now, but as Oikawa and Iwaizumi occasionally had them too they weren’t surprised. He’d also been tense, no longer the wide-eyed boy that had had the Capitol coo, and he snapped whenever either of them had tried a little too hard to check he was okay.

His attitude had become an issue day-by-day and every bite had started to jarr Oikawa, leading him to bite back and for Iwaizumi to have to step in more than once to stop them. Oikawa had argued that fighting might be just what Tobio needed however, as a distraction from the hell he'd been in, but in the end, it had been a visit to Oikawa’s _mother_ had been the ticket to understanding where to go from here.

She’d welcomed them all into District 8's victor’s village, the sole inhabitant and clearly lonely for it, and had taken one look at Tobio before smoothing his hair down with a smile.

He’d stared up at her at the gesture, his eyes filling, and she’d held him immediately as he’d cried and cried for almost an hour afterwards.

“It’s alright,” She’d rubbed his back, rocking him back and forth whilst Oikawa and Iwaizumi had looked on helplessly, “It’s alright little one, shh.”

“No it's - I'm not - " He'd choked, shaking in her arms, "I want to go _home_,“ He'd cried then, "I miss my _mama_. I miss – I miss _everyone._”

“I know.” She’d gestured with her eyes that Oikawa get some water, “I know it’s hard. I know.”

Once he was calm, they’d sat on the sofa and Iwaizumi had shared a look with Oikawa, both visibly realising that their method of ‘striving through’ and 'distracting' wouldn’t work on Tobio. He needed to _talk_ about the things that had happened.

So that’s what they’d then done from that point on. Iwaizumi had spoken about how he’d lost his family as well, capturing Tobio’s attention when he’d not spared any detail about how it had felt and how gut-wrenching it still was to think of it.

Oikawa had told him about his sister and his cousins and how every year he’d watched at least someone he knew well go up to die. They'd let themselves cry as well, clearly having needed it just has much as him, even if they hadn't known it. 

But then they’d shared the memories that they missed. The teasing, the kisses, hugs, stories, and a few of them had even had them laughing. Visits to Oikawa’s mother became a regular event, even if sometimes he couldn’t make it himself if he was blocked with appointments, and at one point his mother had given Tobio a book to keep.

The three of them knew it by heart now, the only book they owned that wasn't Capitol sanctioned, and within it a witch melted in the rain. It was Oikawa’s favourite insult for the both of them but whilst Iwaizumi only rolled his eyes, Tobio would scowl and deny it. He loved the face he made in protest.

“Oikawa-san.”

He turned back to him, that scowl already gone and in it’s place was something sombre, “Hm?”

“What are these appointments?”

Ah. Despite it not being the first time he’d asked, Oikawa’s heart stuttered at the question. He forced a smile, “I’ve told you so many times Tobio-chan, you need to get a better memory.” He looked in the hanging mirror beside his bedroom’s door, fixing his hair, “I’m sure there’s a surgeon out here that could actually do that.”

“Oikawa-san.” That tone told him that he wasn’t going to get away with fobbing him off.

“I have to meet with the President, you know that,” He sighed, “You’ll have to do it at some point too, every tribute does.”

“Why doesn’t Iwaizumi-san?”

“Because – I don’t know. Okay? I don’t ask why he doesn’t but _I_ have to.” Tobio stepped closer, his gaze burning into the side of Oikawa’s face until he turned to face him, regretting it as soon as he did.

He looked both suspicious and sad, clearly not believing the lie anymore but not at the point where he actually knew what was really going on.

Oikawa missed the days where he could have said anything and Tobio would have taken it as gospel, though he supposed that that was his fault for having taken advantage of it if it didn’t work anymore; he never believed a word he said nowadays.

“I won’t be long,” He promised, hoping that that wasn’t another lie either. He only had the one appointment today but sometimes Mal liked to spring a surprise one for him during the Games, if only because there was a higher request for it.

“Okay,” Tobio watched him put on a formal coat and collect their keys, leaving the house with another fake smile. He tried not to think about him on his way to the car, greeting the driver with a short nod and getting inside, wondering how far this client might live and if he had time to mentally prepare.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the drive was long and Tobio came to mind again. He was almost sixteen now, the age Mal had said he’d wait for before giving him his own clients as well. And Oikawa hadn’t even been truthful to him about his own side of things, let alone the fact that Tobio would soon be joining him.

He wished he could save him from it, had danced around the idea of permanently scarring him or anything at all similar, but he knew the Capitol could repair any damage and any attempts to would have been punished.

Still, he had no idea how to broach the topic and had often thought of just getting Iwaizumi to do it for him, but that wasn’t fair and he had no idea how _that_ would go either. It wasn't right to put it off, he knew that, but sometimes he told himself that withholding the knowledge was protecting Tobio somehow, that maybe the longer he didn't know the longer he could retain his innocence and self. Though then again, maybe it was just his own cowardice and the fact that he didn’t want to see Tobio’s face when he learnt what the Capitol had in store for him.

Especially since he’d already lost his parents because of them.

“Here.” The driver opened the door for him once they stopped and he stepped out, taking the card that told him which room he was going to. It wasn’t often someone that rented could afford one of the Capitol’s ‘darlings’ but stranger things had happened and he didn’t particularly care about the peculiarities of his client’s living conditions; they were all freaks regardless. Doe-eyed and hopped on drugs, imagining that he was here willingly and lovingly whilst he simply saw himself slitting their throats and watching the life bled out of them.

He knocked on Room 203, waiting for the jingle of a lock before the door opened and he could step inside. The client was tall, just a little taller than him, and had unruly hair that spoke of his personality more than anything else would.

He gave him a wide grin and shut the door after him, “Hey. Tooru, right?” Oikawa nodded, giving him his own smile, “Well come on in. Sit down, I’m just making myself a mimosa, you want one?”

He never drank with clients. “No. Thanks.” Taking his coat off, he tried to analyse what this client might want from him but there wasn’t a lot to go on. The room was bare, with the exception of a few takeaway boxes and a bottle of hair-gel that seemed both unused and empty at the same time. And the television was tiny. He doubted the quality and wondered where on earth he’d even gotten it from, as he wasn’t sure the Capitol _had_ screens that small.

“It’s my own design,” The client told him, holding his freshly prepared drink in one hand. He gestured to the television, “It’s small I know, but it was my first time creating something like it and I wasn’t sure if I could even do it. There’s a much bigger one in the bedroom.”

Oikawa tried not to stiffen at that, simply nodding with faux interest, but God he hoped he wouldn’t have to _watch_ the Games during this. He’d had a few like that, some that had wanted to see his own game recording too, and it had been nightmarish throughout.

“You said – ” He cleared his throat, “You said you made this?”

“Yeah,” His client smiled, a lot more real-looking than the one he’d had when he’d first arrived, “I work in the holo-room with the gamekeepers,” He explained, “So I know all about what goes into their television sets.” He put his glass down and stood to rap the screen with his knuckles, “What they use and why, how they link to every home and how they record every word every citizen says."

Oikawa had always suspected that, so just nodded, "What do you use the recordings for? To see what everyone enjoys more from the Games?"

"I think that's some aspect of it, yes," The Client shrugged, his multicoloured robe falling off one shoulder, "But mostly it's used to root out any – well. To root out anyone like Tobio Kageyama, really.”

There was a sharp pain in his palms and it took a moment for him to realise that that was his own nails digging into the skin there, forcing him to not react, “I’m sorry?”

“Tobio Kageyama,” The Client continued, sitting back down, close enough to touch but still keeping his distance in a way, “He lives with you, doesn't he? Grumpy kid. Talks a lot about how angry he is with the Capitol and that he shouldn’t have to see people die?”

His heart hammering in his chest now, Oikawa struggled to think of something to say, “I um. I don’t – yes. Tobio lives with me. He's angry a lot too, yes, but he just says rubbish whenever he is.” He gave a fake smile, “He’s silly like that, gets a bit too big for his boots and think before he speaks. Once he’s thought about it though, he knows it’s stupid. And he never talks that way in public.”

“is that right?” The client lounged back, sipping his drink, “And what about Hajime Iwaizumi? One of his tributes spoke like that occasionally too, didn’t she? Refused to fight, if I remember right. The Careers got to her in the first minute of the Games, when she sat down in the bloodbath.”

“I remember.” Oikawa breathed, swallowing, “We condoned her actions publicly.”

“But behind closed doors, you think she had the right idea.”

There was no doubting it now. This man had _heard_ their conversations, had made a case, and was now trying to catch Oikawa out. He felt fear wrap around his throat tight, squeezing until his charisma left him. He had nothing to fall back on, nothing to say to convince him that Tobio wasn’t a revolutionary. That neither of them were.

“Easy,” The client downed his drink and stood to get another glass, pouring some water into it, “Here.” Oikawa didn’t take it, sticking to his rule of never drinking anything at a client’s, regardless of what it was. “It’s just water, I promise.”

He tried for shyness, to distract, “Sorry. I’m just – nervous,” He gave another smile again, “I haven’t been with a man in a long while, a lot of my past clients were all women.”

He was given an amused look, “I know.”

“Right,” He swallowed, “Um. You said there was a bigger television set in the bedroom? I’d love to see – ”

­­“You’re shit at this when you’re scared.”

He felt a flash of anger at that but kept his cool, “I don’t know what you want me to do.” He said, softening his voice so it wasn’t an accusation, “If you could – ”

Abruptly, the client surged forward and pressed his lips to his, pushing him down and mouthing down his neck in a way that was hardly counter-intuitive for sex. Oikawa reacted in shock but let it happen, laying flat over the sofa as the client reached past him and shut the curtains. Then, as suddenly as he’d pushed onto him, he moved back.

“Sorry about that. Never know who’s watching and if it doesn’t look like I plan on fucking you, well.” He shrugged.

Oikawa stared at him, refusing to say anything that might slander him in any way.

“And for a little bluntness, with all things considered,” The Client faced the television, “I want to see Coriolanus 'Mal' Snow die and the Games to shut down.”

Oikawa still said nothing, though he felt the first inklings of real panic begin in reaction to Mal's full name being said aloud.

“My name is Testuro Kuroo, for any relevance,” He continued, “And I live in Room 203 in the Granger’s court. If you want to hurt me, my biggest fear is piranhas.” He turned back toward him, waving a hand at the screen, “No one can hear you. I made it myself, it doesn’t record anything. And trust me, I’d know. It’s my job to listen to those recordings and let’s just say, you are _lucky_ I was assigned your house.”

“Lucky.” Oikawa repeated, numbly.

“Yes. Lucky.” This Kuroo nudged the water toward him, “I understand your reluctance here, but I’m not going to try to get you to say anything, I just want you to listen.”

Slowly, Oikawa nodded.

“Good. Okay.” And just like that, he switched from English to Japanese, “I’m Kuroo Testorou, and I descend from Japan like you. I had to learn the language though, so if I make any mistakes, that’s why. It’s not a language spoken often so it’s why I was assigned to your house, to translate. But I’ve been translating it wrong for weeks.”

There was a cold stone in Oikawa’s throat the longer he listened, a sensation he was starting to become accustomed to whenever thinking about anyone hurting Tobio. He couldn’t quite hear what was being said to him over the thundering in his ears but he could understand the gist.

This man, this _Kuroo_, was trying to ply him with his own language in an attempt to get him to admit to treason. To get him to admit that Tobio spoke about treason a lot.

“- And I have an idea but it’s going to need your help. Won’t take much, just information, which you can get through your clients. I won’t ask for it now and I won’t ask for it for _nothing_, either. I understand that I’ll have to prove to you that I’m not an enemy.” He leant back, "But first, I'm going to need a little something from you just to check I've got the right person."

"Uh - I'm sorry?" Oikawa frowned, his heart so loud he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. 

"Your name. It's Oikawa Tooru, right?" Kuroo asked and at his nod, he continued, "And Mal has you sleeping with Capitol citizens for money. Money _you _don't get, but you do it for your mother anyway."

"I've not complained." Oikawa whispered, deliberately misunderstanding.

"I don't know why you wouldn't. But I can see you being fed-up, or even resigned to it now. Which is a bit of a disappointment." Oikawa stiffened, assuming that this meant he was supposed to be a little fiery for the client, but with how frightened he was right now he didn't know how well he'd be at faking it, "I was hoping you'd be a little more determined to end this. But it's not just you in your household, is it? Kageyama-kun's turning 16 soon."

Like a vice undoing, the squeeze on his neck relaxed just a minuscule amount and with a sudden hush, he could hear everything clearly over his heart's beating.

"Maybe I'll wait until he's had some clients and book him for a session after this. He might not be as resigned as you."

Every hair on his skin raised in warning to not say a word to that, to not react and to self-preserve, but his mouth opened before he could stop it and he felt his eyes narrow, "If you touch him." He breathed, "If you even _try_." He didn't finish the threat, not even sure what he _could_ do if this Kuroo attempted to hurt Tobio, but at the moment that didn't matter. 

He met his gaze without blinking, holding it and watching as the malice in it bled out into something satisfied. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." Kuroo murmured, "Just wanted to check you still had some life in you."

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! Sorry for the delay, sorry for it being rushed!! Had a spurt of inspiration and didn't want to lose it lol
> 
> Hope ya'll like!


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